Mountain Man: Keepin' a Slow Profile

By Tim Guraedy and Jase Robertson

Join Mountain Man as he shares stories from his youth and recent years, and rediscover the wisdom of speaking slower than you think, taking time to talk with others, helping a person in need, eating together as a family, and doing a job right the first time. Also learn to make the most of your uniqueness, bring humor into everyday life, keep your faith first, be quiet to catch the squirrel, stay positive when life is hard, leave a clean trail, and much more.
Instead of figuring out how to squeeze a little more in your day, it is time to slow down and enjoy the God given moments to make life truly worthwhile.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC
• Release date: Oct 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781424549528

Book preview

On October 2, 1957, in Winnsboro, Louisiana, Frank and Ruth Guraedy (pronounced jer-AH-dee) welcomed a son into the world. They named him Tim. His sister, Lynn, was three and a half, and his brother, Bill, was two and a half. I was the new baby. Mountain Baby. And now I’m Mountain Man.

My daddy worked for a gas pipeline company in Extension, Louisiana. The company provided a house for us that stood in a row next to all the other company houses.

Across the cotton field lived our neighbors Ordy Mae and Red and about seventeen kids. Seriously, they had a big family. My daddy made a dollar or so an hour, which wasn’t much, but sometimes we would need some help around the house. So Ordy Mae would come clean for us. If my parents went to town, they’d take my brother and sister and leave me with Ordy Mae. She loved little Tim.

I remember Ordy Mae as a large, caring woman with a rag wrapped around her head. She’d rock me to sleep on the porch and say, I just wish little Tim was mine. I love him to death. As we outgrew our clothes, we gave them to Ordy Mae because she had so many kids to care for. They were the best of kids.

My earliest memories are of catching big red crawfish with a string and some bacon. (By the way, if you want to see the best way to eat crawfish, check out my video on YouTube. Emm hmmm. They’re really good.) Sometimes Ordy Mae’s kids would come across the field and through the barbed wire fence to play with us. One of the boys was about my age—three years old—and had come over to play. We kids were always barefooted, just running around in our shorts. I had just grabbed my first crawfish. I was scared of their pincers, but my brother and sister had showed me how to pick them up without getting pinched. I was so proud of myself. The crawfish was huge, red, and mean looking. I was so excited to show him my crawfish. As soon as he saw what I was holding, his eyes got as big as silver dollars and he took off running across the cotton field so fast you could see the dust fly all the way to his house.

Minnesota

My daddy worked hard and also went to school to study compressor engines, which were the size of a large family room. He was determined to learn and his company sent him to Hallock, Minnesota. I was three and we headed to a small town about twenty-five miles from the Canadian border.

The people were different. The land was vast and flat and winters were cold. Beautiful woods and clear lakes surrounded us. We played in the cemetery for fun and threw acorns at each other, and Daddy spent time teaching us how to fish.

Most kids have their favorite toys scattered around the living room—maybe superhero action figures or Legos. My daddy’s shotgun sat in the corner and had my full attention. Of course it was empty with no bullets. He had them all hid. But my mama says I would stare at that gun for hours. Daddy showed me his pistol too, also with no bullets. I held it and stared at it. I just loved the pistol and the shotgun.

I got a BB gun and started to learn to shoot when I was about four. My dad set up a target in the basement that had little ducks going in circles. At four years old I could outshoot my brother and sister. I hit the target just about every time, which surprised my dad. I’d just laugh and keep shooting.

My dad turned us loose in the yard with the BB gun or our homemade slingshots. There wasn’t a bird, chipmunk, acorn, or soda pop can that was safe. Daddy couldn’t keep enough BBs in the house. I’d either be shooting at the target in the basement, roaming through the cemetery, or walking through the woods at the end of the street shooting everything I could shoot.

We’d climb way up to the top of oak trees and swing off the limbs like squirrels. It was just our nature. Mama said I was wiry and was always trying to climb something. We had lots of time for fun in the summer because that far north it didn’t get dark until close to eleven. When we heard Daddy’s loud whistle, we knew it was time to come in. And we’d come on in.

In winter we went ice fishing and ice skating, and played hockey with sticks and a rock. I fell through the ice a time or two. The water wasn’t very deep, but it was wet and cold! By the time I’d get back to the house, my clothes were frozen stiff.

We lived in Minnesota for five and a half years. I talked then like I do now—real slow with a southern accent—so kids made fun of me. When I started school, teachers would say, "It’s on, not own. Or Say off, not awf." I couldn’t make the change. Thankfully after a while everyone got tired of making fun of me and I made some good friends and had a lot of fun.

The school administration wanted to hold me back from going into the second grade because I was too small. Mama didn’t go for that, so I went on into the second grade. My favorite subjects were math and science and I was a good listener.

We all loved going to the theater. The show always started with a cartoon. I watched the cartoon, but was too young to understand the movie. I just enjoyed eating popcorn and drinking soda pop. Often Mama would look over to my seat and I’d be gone. My head would pop up four rows away from where they were sitting and I’d hear, Get back here, boy. Quit crawling underneath the chairs.

When I was about six, I received another gift from Daddy: his US Air Force knife. I thought I was really hunting then. My dad, my brother, and I often went to a beautiful place called Lake of the Woods. The city is known as the walleye capital of the world. I had my BB gun and that knife, which dangled freely down the whole side of my leg.

I love the pull of the fish. I was amazed at how strong they grip the water so they don’t come out. I caught my first fish on Lake Bronson. I caught a yellow perch on a cane pole. I loved to watch the float go under when the fish would bite and then feel the pull of the fish when it was time to reel it in.

I know this book is about keepin’ a slow profile, but I want you to know that you can keep a slow profile and still catch fish fast. I talk slow and move slow, but that’s when I speed up a little—when the fish are fighting. Growing up I’d have to pull the fish out quickly and recast before my brother or sister could drop their lines into my spot.

Bill and I were good friends growing up. When we fought, we never hit each other with our fists even though we probably felt like it a time or two. We’d just wrastle (that’s how you say wrestle in the South). In those days our adventures covered a lot of woods, creeks, and lakes—including many frozen lakes during the long winters.

Tennessee

Just after Christmas when I was nine years old and in the third grade, my daddy got transferred and we moved to Portland, Tennessee. Portland was real small at that time with just one stoplight. Now when I go for a visit, it’s easy to get lost.

Shortly after we arrived in Portland I got my first real gun—a .410 single barrel bolt action shotgun. Some kids sleep with teddy bears; I slept with my shotgun. That’s the truth. Every time I got a new gun I slept with it. I didn’t name my guns like some people do. But I was so proud of that gun.

The first thing I shot was a big bobwhite quail sitting on a fencepost. My uncle had come into town and we were all out riding around in the car. My uncle suddenly called out, Stop and let Tim shoot that bobwhite quail off that fencepost.

My brother and sister where there and said, Tim can’t hit that.

I was like an old bird dog with my tongue hanging out. I was still really small, but got up

Reviews for Mountain Man

[wearylibrarian · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A little humor, a little 'preaching'. Mountain Man doesn't try to be anything but himself. We need more men like Mountain Man.